Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  James’s face reddened. “How is it possible that every man I trusted to guard my sister and daughter fell asleep in this room?”

  “I did not fall asleep,” Robert said. “I was hit on the head from behind. Good God, tell us, sir, where are the ladies?”

  “I would like to know that, as well,” Graham said in a cold voice.

  James’s eyes remained locked on Robert. “Who the bloody hell hit you?” he demanded.

  Robert allowed his discomfort to show and shifted on his feet. “I cannot say, sir. They hit me from behind.”

  Graham took a step forward. “Damn it, James, tell us where Davina and Margarette are or I will—”

  “You will what?” James’s eyes blazed. “I could ask you where they are.”

  “Do not be a fool,” Graham said. “Clearly, we were drugged.” His gaze shifted to Robert. “At least, I assume those of us at the table were. I woke to find McFarlan on the floor.”

  Why were you in this kitchen, Mister McFarlan?” James demanded.

  “To check if the guards were awake,” Robert said. He swiped wet hair back from his forehead. “Everyone was incapacitated, so I drew my gun. Next thing I knew, Mister McKinley was dumping water on my face.” Shock reverberated through Robert. He scanned the floor. “My pistol. Where is it?”

  Everyone looked about them, except James—and MacGregor. Robert could feel the big Scot’s gaze bore into him.

  James finally swung his gaze back to Graham. “It’s much simpler for a man to drug himself than to strike the back of his own head. So, tell me, Brother,” James said, his voice thick with sarcasm, “why were you here?”

  “For Christ’s sake, James, have you become so distrustful that men engaging in a game of cards is grounds for suspicion?” Graham shot back.

  “I do not believe in coincidence,” James said. “It is too coincidental that all of you were here and drugged. I know a conspiracy when I see one.”

  About the table, more of the men groaned and stirred.

  “It is far more likely that whoever drugged us simply took advantage of the fact that we were all here,” Graham said.

  James looked at the man at the head of the table, who’d lifted his head and blinked owlishly. “What have you to say, Glenn?”

  The man stood. He swayed slightly and Robert glimpsed the tremble in his hand before he grasped the back of his chair. “We were playing cards.” The man grimaced and pressed fingers to his right temple.

  “Who, then, is responsible for incapacitating you?” James turned to Cook.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Cease this insanity,” Graham snapped.

  James swiveled back to face him.

  “You know full well, Missus Armstrong neither drugged us nor freed Davina and Margarette,” Graham said, as if speaking to a child. “Nor do any of the other lasses here have any part in this debacle. They wouldn’t dare cross you.”

  James’s eyes narrowed. “But you would.”

  Graham barked a laugh. “I have made no secret of the fact I oppose you in these matters.”

  “So Mister McKinley has told me,” Faucon said. He looked at James. “I wonder, monsieur, that you allow your brother such freedom in your home.”

  “Our home,” Graham said coldly.

  Faucon met his gaze “Perhaps—for now.” The young man’s expression abruptly darkened and his head snapped in James’s direction. “Luchd-Dìon,” he whispered. “They must have your Elizbeth, and now they have taken the other women.”

  Robert started, then caught himself. The Frenchman knew of Luchd-Dìon? The Gaelic words sounded strange in Faucon’s French accent.

  “Luchd-Dìon?” Graham repeated with almost the same French accent as Faucon, his expression one of confusion. “What the devil are you talking about? And what has it to do with my nieces and Davina?”

  James shot the Frenchman a quelling look, then darted a glance at the gathered kitchen staff. “Never mind, Graham. Faucon, have MacGregor gather men and go after Davina and Margarette. They will be recognized anywhere they go in these parts. No matter what help they might have, they cannot remain undetected. Find them.”

  Faucon threw out an order in French and MacGregor started across the kitchen. James and Faucon stepped aside as he started toward the door.

  “Wait,” James said.

  MacGregor paused and turned.

  “McFarlan will lead the search party.”

  Robert didn’t miss the flick of Graham’s eyes in his direction, but he remained still.

  “What?” Faucon said. “That is not necessary. Leave it to me. We will find them.” James shook his head, and Faucon added in a low voice, “Do not forget, monsieur, we found him passed out on the floor of your kitchen.”

  James gave him a look worthy of a king. He may have been mad, but royal blood ran through his veins. “You dare question me?” he murmured.

  Surprise flickered in Faucon’s eyes, but vanished so quickly Robert marveled. The young man was a skilled politician.

  Faucon angled his head. “Forgive me. Of course, you should send Monsieur McFarlan, if you think it best.”

  James’s eyes shifted to Robert “McFarlan, find them and bring them back,” he ordered.

  Robert gave a nod. “I will not fail you, sir.”

  “You had best not,” James replied.

  With a final nod, James McKinley spun on his heels and stalked away, leaving Robert to face Graham, MacGregor and Faucon.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Robert had to do something with MacGregor. The two men riding ahead of them, combined, would be easier to deal with than the big Scot.

  Robert eyed the broad backs of David MacLaine, James McKinley’s best tracker, and another of his trusted men, Angus McAllen. They would turn on Robert the moment they realized he meant to aid the women’s escape, but he’d rather not harm them. The wisest course of action would be to separate from them. Separate from MacGregor, too, if possible.

  Incapacitate them or deceive them? Neither option would be easy. A quick glance showed MacGregor rode casually in the saddle beside Robert, but Robert wasn’t fooled. The man didn’t trust Robert. Why? Robert frowned. A Scot aiding a Frenchman who knew of Luchd-Dìon. Faucon could have hired MacGregor as a local guide, but wasn’t it more likely Faucon would bring men he trusted rather than hire a stranger? Shipping the ladies off to France was an important task, not to be entrusted to just anyone. MacGregor had to know of Luchd-Dìon. In fact…

  Robert searched memory of the moment when Faucon mentioned Luchd-Dìon. Had MacGregor shown any surprise? Damn it, Robert’s attention had been on Faucon. Faucon had clearly told James of Luchd-Dìon. Had he also told MacGregor?

  The rune tattoo that marked Robert as Luchd-Dìon seemed to burn his forearm. If MacGregor knew of Luchd-Dìon and wanted proof of Robert’s loyalties, all he need do was have the other two men hold him down while he checked Robert’s right forearm. Why hadn’t he? Because…while MacGregor didn’t trust Robert, neither did he suspect him of being Luchd-Dìon.

  The men in the lead slowed.

  “What is it?” MacGregor called.

  “The tracks turn north.” MacLaine slowed his horse to a walk, and they all followed suit. He veered off the road to the left, his gaze on the ground. “They have slowed.”

  “How far ahead are they?” MacGregor demanded.

  MacLaine didn’t take his eyes off the rocky terrain, but shook his head. “I cannae say for sure, but the tracks are not very old.”

  “Why leave the road?” MacGregor looked at Robert.

  “The ladies were born and raised at Kaerndal Hall,” Robert replied. “They would know every shortcut within a hundred miles.”

  MacGregor’s gaze bore into his. “Shortcut to where?”

  Robert shrugged. “Wherever they might wish to go.”

  If his guess was right, they were headed for the duchess. He couldn’t imagine how they might have guessed that was the right thing to do, unless it wa
s Luchd-Dìon that had freed them. Nae, if that were the case, there would be at least one other rider, probably more. No one from Luchd-Dìon would have sent the women off alone.

  “I do not know them well,” Robert said. “My business has always been with Mister McKinley, not the ladies.”

  MacGregor’s gaze sharpened. “McKinley put ye in charge of this rescue. What are your orders?”

  “Follow the tracks,” Robert called, and whipped the reins across his horse’s flank.

  ***

  Davina slowed her mount as they drew near the inn. Relief and fear mingled in her tired limbs. She and Margarette had achieved a leg of their journey unaccosted. Yet, she wouldn’t forsake caution. Any building, indeed, any bend in the roadway, could conceal a trap.

  Rather than head for the entrance, she led the way to the sable and rode directly in, ready to whirl and run, if needed. Two coaches stood in the large barn. One, non-descript and black. The other…James’s. Shock reverberated through her. Her surroundings whirled. She tilted in the saddle, faint. James had found them.

  “Can that be Elizbeth’s coach?” Margarette cried.

  Davina drew a sharp breath, heart stuttering. The coach was small and light, not the hulking conveyance James preferred. The vehicle was Elizbeth’s. But what was Elizbeth doing at the inn? Davina shook her head. Cold terror mingled with hope. Just because the coach was there didn’t mean Elizbeth was.

  “Oh, I am so very relieved to have found her.” Margarette angled her horse toward the inn.

  Davina turned her horse and kicked the exhausted animal forward, barring her niece’s way. “Margarette, I will go inside first.”

  She frowned. “What? But I want to see Elizbeth. I have fretted about her constantly.”

  “I know, but I must be certain of the situation.”

  “But, Aunt Davi—”

  “Margarette McKinley,” Davina snapped.

  Margarette gawked.

  Davina dismounted, then strode around her horse to Margarette. “You will do as I say.”

  “But, Aunt Davina—”

  “You will stay on your horse,” Davina ordered.

  Margarette’s expression drooped, but she nodded.

  “If there is any trouble, I want you to ride north to Aunt Saundra without stopping, as fast as you can.”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “If I scream—”

  Margarette’s eyes widened.

  “If I scream or shout,” Davina said with emphasis. “Or if a gun is fired.”

  Tears appeared in Margarette’s eyes.

  Davina grasped her arm. “You are not a little girl, Margarette. No tears. You will be strong and do as I say.” She lifted her brows and Margarette nodded. “Good, and if you see anything suspicious, anything at all, you scream. I will come running.”

  Margarette offered another nod.

  Davina proffered her horse’s reins. The hand Margarette grasped them in shook.

  “Wait here, out of sight, by the stable,” Davina ordered.

  She hurried toward the inn, up the porch steps and through the door. She blinked, in an effort to accustom her eyes to the dimness of the inn’s interior. A dining room was located through an open arched doorway to the right, but a quick look didn’t reveal Elizbeth. Davina turned left and crossed to the boy who stood behind the counter.

  He offered an expression of polite interest. “May I help ye, ma’am?”

  Davina smiled. “I hope so. I am looking for a friend. The young lady who owns the coach I noted in your stable. Where might I find her?”

  “I am sorry, ma’am, but they are in a private dining room, and do not wish to be disturbed.”

  Dear God, was Elizbeth really here? Hope was replaced by her earlier fear. What was Elizbeth doing at this coaching inn?

  Davina smiled. “I understand, of course. Have you only one private dining room? I would like to dine alone, as well.”

  His expression brightened. “Certainly, we have more than one private dining room. Follow me.” The boy rounded the counter and started toward a hallway leading away from the vast common room.

  Davina glanced over her shoulder. She couldn’t see Margarette through the door’s small window. If Margarette had encountered any trouble, she would have screamed, as instructed. Wouldn’t she? Davina faced forward and followed the young man down the hallway. They passed a staircase, then several closed doors, before stopping outside a room. He opened the door and stood aside.

  Davina entered and said, “Please prepare breakfast for two.”

  “Two, ma’am?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I am expecting my sister.” Davina rattled off a modest list of breakfast foods, then turned away in a clear dismissal.

  An instant later, the door clicked shut behind her. Davina waited agonizing seconds, then hurried back to ease the door open. The hallway stood empty. She slipped from the room and backtracked to the nearest closed door. Without knocking, she entered.

  Davina stopped short. Was she dreaming?

  It couldn’t be.

  “Bhradain?” she whispered.

  The only occupant of the room, a man standing near the hearth of the private dining room, gave a slight nod. “I did not think to see you.”

  The room spun. She hadn’t had this dream in years. Were she and Margaret really still being held captive in the cellar of their own home? It had seemed too fantastical that Miss Ingram, a stranger, would put herself in jeopardy to help them. Even Graham’s charms couldn’t induce a woman to go that far for him. Davina gave her head a shake in an effort to wake from the dream.

  “I am real, Davina.”

  Davina snapped from the spell. “That is Miss McKinley, sir.”

  He gave a slight bow. “Miss McKinley. I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see you.” His eyes took on a tender cast he’d no right to. “I feared for you. May I ask the whereabouts of your niece Margarette? She is well?”

  Davina stiffened. “Never say you care for myself and my niece after all these years.” She added an irrational, condescending laugh for good measure.

  Something flashed in his eyes, gone too quickly to read. Bhradain Haywood had always been one to control his emotions.

  “I have no time for this.” Davina willed back tears and spun.

  She got out the door and three paces down the hall before strong fingers closed around her arm. Pulling free, she whirled and slapped him. To her complete shame, her chest heaved.

  “Do not touch me,” she hissed.

  “Miss McKinley, you misunderstand. This isn’t personal.”

  Hurt bloomed inside her as it had nearly a decade ago when he departed Scotland without the formality of a goodbye.

  Davina drew herself up. “Of course not. Just as it wasn’t personal when you left.”

  Pain filled his eyes. “You know I wouldn’t have left had I not been forced to.”

  “Do I?” She glared at him. “I must go.” She turned.

  “Davina, wait, you do not understand. Miss Elizbeth—”

  He broke off when Elizbeth emerged from the stairs near the end of the hall. She turned toward Davina and they both cried out. Davina took two steps toward her and Elizbeth flew the final steps and threw herself into Davina’s arms.

  “Oh, Aunt Davina,” she cried. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

  Davina closed her eyes and stroked Elizbeth’s hair. Relief brought new pain. “I know, love.”

  Elizbeth cried in earnest. Davina continued to stroke her hair. Much as she didn’t wish to let Elizbeth go, she had Margarette to look after, and Bhradain to deal with.

  Davina pushed her niece at arms’ length. “Elizbeth, I have a dining room. You will wait there for me while I fetch Margarette.”

  Elizbeth’s eyes widened. “Margarette is here? She is well? Father didn’t send her to France?”

  Davina cast her niece a quelling glance, unsure if they could trust Bhradain with the secrets that engulfed them.
“Thus far, we have all escaped that fate. She is waiting outside. I have left her alone too long, as it is.”

  “I will fetch Miss Margarette,” Bhradain said.

  Davina snapped her gaze onto him. “This is family business, sir, and none of your concern.”

  “But it is his concern, Aunt Davina,” Elizbeth said. “Uncle Graham sent me here with Mister Haywood.”

  Davina was certain she’d heard wrong. “Elizbeth, sit in my dining room.” She put an arm about Elizbeth’s shoulders, guided her into the dining room, then eased her into a chair at the table. “Wait here and do not move.” She turned to Bhradain, who stood in the doorway. Davina hurried from the room, forcing him to step back, and pulled the door closed behind her. “Stay here.” Without waiting for his reply, she rushed down the hallway.

  Davina emerged from the inn and hurried around the side of the inn to find Margarette still seated on her horse. Relief smoothed the worry lines on her face, though Davina glimpsed the moisture in her eyes.

  “I was so worried,” Margarette said, when Davina neared.

  “I know.” Davina tugged her mount’s reins from Margarette’s hand. “Quick, come with me into the inn.”

  Margarette dismounted slowly, limbs obviously stiff from hours in the saddle. Davina captured the reins of Margarette’s horse, then led both beasts to a nearby tying posts and secured them. Turning back, she grasped Margarette’s arm and started for the inn.

  “Is Elizbeth here?” Margaret asked.

  “Aye,” Davina said.

  Margarette emitted a sob.

  They reached the back hall of the inn where a young man stood outside the first dining room with Bhradain. Margarete stared at them with wide eyes as Davina led her past. She opened the door to the room she’d requested. Several platters of pastries and a teapot with cups and saucers tea sat on the table. Elizbeth sprang to her feet. A new cry left her lips. Margarette pulled from Davina’s grip and ran to her sister.

  “Try to eat, both of you,” Davina said, voice as calm as she could muster. “I will be without.”

  The girls, clinging to one another and babbling through tears, gave no indication they’d heard. Davina closed the door and faced Bhradain and his young friend.